There is a somewhat disconcerting beauty to some of Pre-Human Ideas’ songs.

In the end, another eternity leaves us somewhere in the middle, to contemplate the excellent and the bland.

Talk Memory excels as an advertisement for prodigious jazz technique, but it just doesn't excel as a BADBADNOTGOOD record.

In the end it is a work crippled by its own indecision, and perhaps bowed by the weight of expectation: a shame, for sure, but hardly a reason to lose faith.

This natural movement away from jazz has led them to a sort of awkward middle ground. It feels like To Believe is a beautiful soundtrack to a film we don’t have the visuals for. And it’s just not quite enough on its own.

While Pedestrian is not the most remarkable album, it feels honest and comforting.

God’s Favorite Customer isn’t afforded the opportunity to shine with Tillman’s usual charming spirit--that’s not because the turmoil of heartache is too mundane a subject for the philosophically-minded Tillman to master, but because in order to master it, he needs to do more to whip up his usual reckless innovation.

While these tracks aren’t necessarily bad by any set definition, it’s worth looking at them through a critical scope and for grand moments like these that once carried so much weight early in their career, we have to begin asking ourselves just how many times can a group reduplicate their sound before their efforts simply become white noise.

Bouquet is fine as a first country album – there’s a relaxed sheen over the whole thing, and she sounds great as ever – it’s just disappointing for what we know Stefani to be capable of.

It might not be all we'd hoped for, and could certainly benefit from some variety, but there are just about enough standouts here to keep admirers interested.

At its best, it’s vintage Quasi.... But at its worst, you find yourself checking the tracklist to see just how much more of the record is left.

Blue Rev is a slightly disappointing return from such a brilliant indie band.

These are songs with the glossiest pop sheen steamrolled over them, erasing any wrinkles or mishaps – the exact thing that made her so endearing to begin with.

It’s an album that doesn’t demand attention but rewards those willing to sit with it, probably best described as an understated success. It would seem the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Her latest offering, however, lacks the key component that made the bizarre spectacles that accompanied her other albums slightly less irritating--consistently good pop songs.

Her spontaneous naivete and heartfelt vocals, while inticing, somehow get lost in these glossy, large scale and commercial productions.

Its best moments are closer to pop-punk and synth-pop than anything resembling traditional hip-hop.

Singles "Human" and "Skin" are due their high praise, but there seems little soul to the rest of proceedings.

[Cigarettes After Sex] continue to refine their vision with more clarity, bigger baselines, and a continued promise to envelop you in their hazy, romantic pop noir. It’s that kind of consistency that fans have come to expect; still, one can’t help but wonder how many more releases Cigarettes After Sex will sustain this sound before they risk consistency for experimentation within their artistic boundaries.

While no wheels have been reinvented, The Show is far from a bad record. If you’ve spent any time trying to imagine what a new Niall album would sound like, you’re probably pretty close.

2017 has had better pop records surely, but hearing Halsey grow as an artist is a uniquely rewarding experience that makes the album’s faults more forgivable and its successes more thrilling.

It doesn’t necessarily stay in your head all day but when the drawling rhymes cut in there is attitude and thought provocation in buckets.

Pop-radio metamorphosis hasn’t been fully achieved, and there are plenty of moments where pure beauty shines through.

Draped in synths and bouncy, Top 40 bass lines, Offering turns out to be a lacklustre effort from a group once smothered in critical praise and year-end listings.

It's a soothing, uplifting listen, perfect for those moments when you need a gentle, positive presence in the background. But for those seeking something more, something that challenges the boundaries of what Tycho can do, this album may leave you wanting.

It’s an album that feels made for technical appreciation, rather than necessarily engaging the listener.

On their new album, they maintain this dive into pop, but with songs that are nothing like as captivating as their back catalogue.

Short and sweet at nine songs, a few struggle to stand alone.

Overall, although there is quite a bit of filler on Rabbit Rabbit, the album does contain some enjoyable songs, with Dupuis and Molholt demonstrating their obvious talents for solid guitar riffs at several points.

While there are undoubtedly highlights on Sympathy For Life, it seems like fans will have to keep waiting to see the band fully commit to their dancefloor ambitions.

In spite of its shortcomings, High Hopes will tide fans over until the next bona fide LP.

Had it been released by a lesser pair, this album would doubtless by hailed as full or potential, the first LP from a vital new force in alternative hip-hop; however, as it has been released by these two, it falls jarringly flat when one considers what they’re capable of.

This is a lovely record, prettily arranged and carried off with assurance, but it’s ultimately very difficult to escape the feeling that the real aim here was to deliver something of slow-cooked profundity.

Cerulean, while technically masterful, is just a fine, pleasant dream to pass the time.

It’s half magical, lush, and wholesome, and half redundant. Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in repetitive cycles, not knowing when to quit. That moment has finally arrived for Titus Andronicus.

The record is at its best when we’re having fun with Ice, which seemed to be her initial ethos. But much of the record is unfortunately underbaked.

For those that grew up with the band that they would even release a second post reunion record is probably enough. For those that have joined the party late however, it does nothing we haven’t heard before. And unfortunately, those moments where the album soars instead of stalls, come too infrequently to leave any lasting impression.

GRIP is stylish and moving, yet lacks a sense of provocation.

Too much of Quicksand Heart feels rushed, or perhaps consciously unambitious, eschewing bold creative strokes in favour of the kind of inoffensive consistency you might put on at a cheese and wine night to set the mood. Its best songs are worth a relisten; taken as a whole, though, it’s something of a disappointment.

The more reflective moments on the album are some of the best.

Three out of the four songs are at least enjoyable.

Bleachers would have felt more complete if their signature goofiness prominent in the upbeat production had seeped into more tracks. Despite some occasionally affecting lines, songwriting isn’t their forte; instrumentation is.

It does feel harsh to pick holes in a record that’s already so visibly bruised by criticism; where credit’s due, the home stretch is much, much stronger.

It’s so unrestrained that it sometimes loses its grip, condensing several albums worth of ideas into a single project that isn’t quite as compelling as the sum of its parts, the sum of its collaborators, or the sum of its energy.

Thirstier seems to spin out of control in the name of artistic development. The daring dip into electronic garners mixed results.

Though its exploration sometimes lacks cohesion, it succeeds in pushing the group’s sound to levels of experimentation.

It’s a solid start from this supergroup, but the tug of old strings still dominates proceedings a little too much to mark this out as anything wholly unique in itself. But for some, that’ll be just fine.

Trip at Knight is likely the closest Redd has come to snapping into the desolate, depraved world he’s so eager to create. When the ashes settle, there’s the sense that he still has some miles to go, but there’s no taking this moment away from him.

Were Twain willing to engage with additional genres, it’s quite possible Queen of Me would hold up as a more engrossing listen. Instead, what we’re given is the audio equivalent of speed dating. The songs hint at Twain’s vivacious personality, but never quite let us in.

The real flaw, if there is one, is that they might have strayed a little too far from their roots. The uninitiated, though, will see this as an intriguing electro-pop record, first and foremost.

A Bit of Previous fails to standout. Whilst carrying the same overall feel of If You’re Feeling Sinister and The Boy With the Arab Strap, it lacks the depth and storytelling brilliance that originally made this band so exciting.

Like the tracks themselves, the album as a whole contains a breadth in the way of sounds and styles, but less so in depth. Confused and trying on more hats than a grandfather at a beachfront souvenir shop, Cautious Clay flickers with interest and leaves without a second thought.

Like other Matmos albums, it relies too heavily on the concept behind the album for merit. Plastic Anniversary is an impressive experiment with intriguing results; it's not, however, an album you'll likely find yourself revisiting time and time again.

The moments of intrigue are too fleeting and the encompassing ‘feel’ of the LP lingers too long in flat territories, which is a shame, as there’s potential for her solo work to be spectacular indeed.

This album doesn’t pack enough punches to provoke or demand a rebuttal, and given the length of VietNam’s hibernation after their debut, they may head straight back there if there’s no impetus to keep them in the spotlight.

What Do We Do Now has some interesting moments on its first side, but quite a bit of it does feel leaden and lacking in energy.

Coherent though it is, songs have a habit of blending into one another, and all too often end up sounding like that noise when you’re constantly on hold.

Some of Creeper's tricks may have become repetitive and predictable, but whichever direction they take after the SD&IV cycle, they probably can't go wrong as long as there are plenty of Greenwood's vocal contributions. The interludes create smooth transitions, guitar crescendos build a gorgeous cinematic effect, especially on the EP's centerpiece "America At Night" and the anthemic "One Of Us", which sounds a bit like Green Day.

They’re all interesting concepts and ideas that work, but together they create a disjointed and bizarre listen.

The messaging does feel appreciative yet it feels too familiar between its use of commonplace metaphors and lack of clear thematic thread.

If you're a fan of Frusciante's work in the California funk outfit, then there's not much here you'll enjoy, but if you are into electronic, drum and bass then you'll be right at home.

Punk will likely not be remembered as a great Young Thug album, but we should appreciate that we get to hear him tinker with his sound for when he finally puts it all together again.

Chaosmosis has its moments, but it sure is patchy.

There's still an amicable charm to Take The Sadness Out Of Saturday Night but, overfilled with internal questioning and no reprieve of an answer, the sadness fails to truly lift.

While they’ve certainly sharpened some of the edges since Little Moments and brought their newfound gloom-and-synth-addled style to a more formidable shape, Only Run still suffers a significant lack of the sheer vibrancy and enthusiasm that made their off-kilter beginnings so invigorating.

It’s not quite as appealing generally speaking, but does feature music for those moments when a soundtrack to a subtle atmosphere is needed-- whether on screen or in imaginations--with hints of more life slipping in between.

Blitzen Trapper are unabashed traditionalists, and they’re not shy about letting you know it.

The execution isn’t quite perfect - at times, you can feel the record trying, as if it’s labouring under its own weight. But the band, and particularly Ross, deliver it with such honesty that that much can be forgiven.

Unfortunately, there are too many missteps for this to feel like any kind of progress on their debut, even if the sentiment behind the tracks remain essential. Sløtface clearly still have much to say; they just need to work out a way of rediscovering their voice.

The songs are proficiently penned, though often devoid of the juggernaut hooks that elevated previous outings, particularly the exhilarating House of Sugar and stunning God Save the Animals. Additionally, the production MO tilts toward the conservative – well-sanded and well-stirred instrumentation.

Though the album can feel dangerously repetitive at times, slower takes like ‘So What’ act as a reprieve from these moments.

It’s a record that feels like a cosy hub of creative minds reminiscing about their memories – unhurried and finely reflective. Sadly, that’s much about it.

Gibson’s talent isn’t in question here, there’s a reason he’s built a reputation as one of the UK's best production talents and it’s in full display in Actual Life 3. However, it's hard to put a finger on what the album's intent is.

Beck’s Colors is a musical invitation to a soiree that ultimately lacks both substance and staying power, and is crucially missing the self-awareness that something more important is at stake than merely having a good time.

There’s evidence that he’s pursued some kind of consistency to the album’s mood, but it’s sonically so scattered that you can’t help but feel he’s fighting a losing battle; ultimately, he’ll end up back where he started--with devotees satisfied, but little in the way of fresh converts.

While not remotely original--the unabashed attempt to salvage the last remains of anthemic indie-rock music is admirable in itself.

On Art Angels, we hear that high art experimentation fall into mainstream territory with only fleeting moments of brilliance.

Wild Things does get it right in parts, especially when the approach is that of slightly anxious pop.

There’s a pleasant sea-change at the mid-way point on “Togetherness Is All I’m After”, with the dropping tempo allowing some finer feeling and vocal range to return, but tracks like “Cell Phone Blues”, “Love Chant”, and “Marauders”, feel forced and lumpen.

It changes its arm in a myriad of directions, with only a few really working, but they remain a band set apart from those around them, even if here they stumble.

Unfortunately, despite the gravitas, at times it feels a bit like you’re listening to a late-night free jazz jam. When it hits the mark, Rose Golden Doorways rears its head and roars in a concrete wasteland, but there are moments of chin-stroking weirdness that fall flat of the eldritch dread Rochford and co are trying to create.

There are parts that gel, and others that are just plain strange: flippant tone shifts, gritty electronica jarring with the twinkling guitars and Deez’s hearty warbling.

While there are moments of significant note here, Glowing In The Dark as a whole doesn’t feel, or more importantly sound, like the album that will finally solidify the band in delivering what is their true potential.

As a whole, Inventions plays nicely as the backdrop of your psychedelic dreams. In pieces, it fares much better and commands more attention.

This is an album that, as elegant and refined as it is, will be forgotten about soon enough. That’s not to say it doesn’t deserve to be extolled for the hard work alone.

The results can be more chilly than chilled this time, not always making for an easy listen, but there’s certainly a process at play here.

Overall, TYRON is not quite the same intense powerhouse as Nothing Great About Britain. The strength of the first half gives way to half-hearted examinations of one’s place in the world. But Slowthai still delivers a compelling record which seeks to discover and establish a self-portrait that’s a little messy but worth praising for its efforts at rough-around-the-edges ingenuity.

Performing at a venue that once hosted the iconic long-running Grand Ole Opry show, the band do seem slightly in awe of their venerable surroundings. They certainly never get too chatty here, with Bridwell limiting himself to an occasional aww-shucks ‘Thanks y’all!’ or similar.

It’s reassuring to hear her in this state of mind after the unrelenting heaviness of Head Above Water. Even if Love Sux isn’t a perfect album, it’s certainly a well-deserved victory lap from someone with little left to prove.

Rest assured, this isn’t a record built to break completely free of any trademark parochial charms.

Horsegirl’s songwriting isn’t distinct enough to imply any hidden tension though, and back to back sweetness becomes a little sickly. It’s no surprise that the best songs here are the meaner ones.

The best moments of the album work by adding a more considered approach to material that, in the wrong hands, could sound slapdash. However, the albums least remarkable moments are plodding at best and mawkish at worst.

The album proves that Exploded View are at their best when they refuse to be constrained by reality, to listen to consensus or to obey, and instead, exist in the dazzling reverie of their collective dream.

Sure, there are flashes of brilliance where studio trickery elicits intriguing headphone moments but these are by-and-large in the minority.

This is an album that lacks the fun and hooks of their earlier outings.

Taken as a whole, this is a perfectly enjoyable album if you want your music to be nostalgic, friendly and accessible. If you’re a jaded rock fan looking for a newish band and a reliable sound, Starcrawler are for you. For everybody else, proceed with caution.

Most of the material is pleasant at best, and while the lack of overcompensation is appreciated, it makes the group’s lyrical deficits that much more noticeable than on previous records.

Dalle sounds as if she’s on autopilot for much of Diploid Love; she’s obviously got talent to spare, but she’ll need to provide herself with a sterner challenge than she has here if she’s to truly capitalise on it.